


sleepless nights and utter delusions

by pekoyamas



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fight Club Fusion, Insomnia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Therapy, if u've already seen fight club then cmon u kno what happens but it's not like really necessary, its a fight club au!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-27 11:02:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20759279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pekoyamas/pseuds/pekoyamas
Summary: Light Yagami is a 23-year-old insomniac with a general distaste for life.





	1. Chapter 1

I’m 23 and certainly an insomniac. Sleep is a release I cannot afford; I am Tantalus and this sleepless existence is my form of punishment. While of course things could be worse, things could also always be so much better. It is only when confronted with worse situations that I attain sleep, a fucked-up reward system for realising I’m better than everyone. Or something.

Anyway, I obtain my release by attending countless support groups. I discovered this after being forced into group therapy after one of the cops I worked with got shot and killed on the job. There, I was made to listen to the woes of everyone surrounding me. I was encouraged to share, of course, but I didn’t think I could. How could I explain to all my co-workers that I didn’t care, and was just an insomniac with an absolute and total distaste for my life, despite my peaceful existence? If pushed, I decided that I would share a tale about me being a closeted homosexual. The awkwardness would be bearable if it were not related to my truth. Then, after listening to my co-workers share their fears (fucking Aizawa just had to mention his kids again, as if we don’t already know all about them.) I went home and slept for a solid 8 hours. It was fucking glorious. I still daydream about that moment when I sit at home, painfully awake at 4 am. I rode the train to work that morning with a sense of hope and contentedness I hadn’t felt since I was 9. My mood was crushed almost instantly, with the deliverance of the dead man’s paperwork. My father called me into his office that day, and suggested I check out some other support groups since I was ‘still young’ and he knew that it was ‘hard to deal with’. I honestly could not have cared less. However, after experiencing that wondrous sleep, I decided to check it out anyway. I started with relevant ones, like PTSD and depression support groups, and slowly worked my way up to stuff like breast cancer and divorces. I was sleeping more than I ever had in my entire life and honestly became somewhat of an addict. Constantly planning how I could get my next fix. Anyway, while moving on to other groups, I developed many aliases. I put my lying skills to good use in that, and in return received release. The 7th week of my new support group cycle led me back to PTSD, where I ran into a co-worker: Touta Matsuda. Matsuda is the kind of man you expect very little from, and yet still hold out a little hope for. He never truly delivers. His ‘kind-hearted nature’, as he describes it, is what led him to a career as a police officer. He is nice, I suppose, not resentful that I’m 8 years younger and certainly more successful in the same profession as him. His one redeeming trait is his aim, but it didn’t mean shit when it mattered, which is why I spot him at this PTSD support group. You see, Matsuda is inadvertently responsible for the death of my co-worker, as his inability to grab his fucking gun and shoot the criminal gave said criminal more than enough time to pull out his gun and shoot the other man in the throat. Matsuda is a textbook case of survivors guilt, or maybe just regular guilt. It was his fault, after all. 

Anyway, upon seeing me at this group, he pulled me into his chest for a deep hug (which was incredibly awkward, by the way, as I am taller and also generally uncomfortable with physical affection) and sobbed silent tears. Well, not silent tears at all, apologies for my misdirection. They were painfully loud choking sobs, ruining my shirt. Now, you might be thinking ‘Oh no! You know this man in real life, he knows your real name! How ever will you escape this impossible situation?’ and the answer is quite simple, really: luck. You see, this being one of the first support groups I visited, I had not yet developed an alias, and rather went by my honest legal name. This turn of events enabled my addiction and only really further proved that gods do smile upon me. I truly am Tantalus; favoured son of the King of Gods. 

I feel that I’ve been rather harsh to Matsuda thus far; he really is a good man. I don’t mean to diminish his value as either a human or a police officer. He is, despite his intelligence (or lack thereof), one of the more bearable people I work with. I would be upset if he acted on his survivor’s guilt, which is why I returned to that particular support group the next week. When I saw him at work later, he smiled and winked at me. “Shh,” he said, laughing. I am certain at least half of the people we work with think we are having an affair. This would definitely intensify if I did tell the ‘I’m gay’ story, but I am not sure if that would stop me. It would be a better explanation for my lapse in judgement with Misa, at least. 

My support group escapades were going exceptionally if I do say so myself, until I noticed a pattern. You see, I visit a lot of support groups. It is rare to see someone at multiple, but it happens sometimes. However, this one bastard of a man was clearly not going for support. His matted black hair and consistent outfit of a fucking long-sleeved shirt and jeans exuded the antonym of sex. The ass was going for fun! Each group was another name, ranging from ‘Ryuga’ to ‘Ryuzaki’ to ‘Lind L. fucking Tailor’. His lack of respect or honesty during the therapy sessions was severely off-putting and disgusting, least of all the fact there was someone out there who knew my secret. Being found out fucking destroyed my sleep, and I was back to square one. After weeks of sleepless nights, I confronted the lying bastard. 

“I know you do not fucking need these support groups. You’re ruining my life, and honestly, I think the world would really appreciate it if you just fucked off.” I said, calmly. The man looked up at me from the cold coffee he clasped in his hands. His posture was god awful, and he did nothing but stare at me. “What?” I barked, eventually, after a much too long silence. 

“Nothing, just that your hypocrisy is starkly off-putting.” he mused, taking a long sip from his now even colder coffee. At this point, all I was thinking were the words ‘What the fuck’, ‘I hate you’, and ‘You being here is starkly off-putting, you disgusting specimen of a man’. In shock, however, I said none of these things. He stared me down again. “What?” he said, mockingly, laughing into his fucking cold coffee, who the fuck drinks cold coffee! “I see I’ve made you speechless, but that is a largely disproportionate reaction to what was said. Hypocrisy is a highly unattractive quality, and based on,’ he paused for a second, looking me over. “you, I’d say you highly value attractiveness.” I spluttered a laugh and could not hide my immaturity. 

“And based on you, I’d bet that you do not even value looking presentable.” He chuckled at that, and I couldn’t tell if that made me more or less angry. 

“Okay,” he said. “What’s your deal then? Why do you want me to ‘fuck off’?” He scrunched his nose up when he said ‘fuck off’, and it made me want to break his nose. At this point, he had finally put down his cold coffee, which made me calm down a little more.

“I can’t sleep without support groups. I know you come here for- well, actually, I don’t know. But if I don’t know, that means there’s no reason, and you’re just an asshole.” He raised his eyebrows at that.

“Perhaps. But I don’t really care about your problems, and I will continue to attend.” He answered, then walked off, leaving me to stare at the knots in his hair and ponder how a man who clearly only owned one pair of pants was so capable of ruining my life. 

  
  


The next session, I confronted him again. 

“Ah, my dear friend, how are you dealing with the death of your daughter? You look tired, having nightmares about it?” he said when he saw me approaching. This time he has tea and it’s hot, but I also saw him dump 19 pounds of sugar in it, so it does nothing to quash my distaste for his… well, taste. His jokes do nothing to change my expression, which is clinically neutral, with perhaps underlying anger or frustration. Mostly, I think I just looked tired. When I didn’t respond, he pushed his paper cup of terribleness towards my face. “Tea?” he asked. My face scrunched up and I pushed it away from me. 

“No thanks.” I said, firmly. He shrugged and turned to the side, taking a sip of it.

“Whatever.” he replied, and I took this opportunity to mention my management strategy.

“Listen, I feel like I’m dying-” he snorted at that.

“I’m sure you could talk about that in a support group, I don’t care.”

“Can I fucking talk? I feel like I’m dying without sleep. I feel like maybe if we both go, but to separate ones on separate days so we don’t run into each other, it’ll be fine.” he shrugged.

“I don’t care.” he responded, pulling a pen out of his fucking jeans pocket. He wrote on the paper cup his tea was in and handed it to me. “Call me to schedule.” he said. ‘L’, the cup read. Was that supposed to be his fucking name? Whatever, if the fuckwit didn’t want to share I didn’t care enough to press the issue. I walked home and put the cup on my kitchen counter, and stayed awake until it was time to leave for work again. 

The monotony of my day-to-day life has caused me to show up for work many times when I was not required to be there. In the most simple of terms, the days are indistinguishable. Matsuda was hanging around my desk when I arrived, which was surprising to me as Matsuda and I tend to arrive at about the same time. I like to be on time (though, really, I have absolutely nothing else to do) and Matsuda is just too scared of being late. He was holding a mug of coffee (which was the right temperature and not packed with sugar, thank god) and sipped it slowly. His hands seemed a little shaky, and internally I began to panic. What had happened? Externally, however, I was the epitome of calm and comfort. 

“Good morning.” I said, softly, slipping into my desk chair to swivel around and face him again. His eyes flickered over to me for a second and then floated towards a certain part in the carpet. He took another shaky sip. 

“Good morning.” he responded, finally. I smiled with concern, and my arm floated up to touch his hand.

“Are you okay?” I whispered, certain now that everyone believed we were having an affair. It brought him back down to earth, though. 

“Yeah, it’s just…” he trailed off and stared out of the window over my head. He took a moment, then looked down at me again. I nodded reassuringly. “Well, I’m just not sure what to do anymore. I just feel lost and empty, you know?” he said and oh my god, yesyesyesyes I know I know! There’s nothing out there for us only the same day on repeat and fuck the most eventful thing to happen in his life has already happened so why wait any longer let’s just get it over and done with I don’t need to wait for my event I don’t want to wait for my event take me down and take me out use your gun for once kill me and then yourself we’ll go out with a bang it’ll be fucking beautiful. 

I nodded. “Yeah, I feel the same way sometimes.” 

“Really?!” His eyes widened. I felt doubt constrict around my body. Was it the right thing to say? Yes, it was comforting. Don’t lose your footing. 

“Yeah, of course. Everyone does. I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to confide in me, Matsuda. If you want to talk more, I’m always open.” I said, confident and reassuring. He rubbed his neck awkwardly. 

“You know you can call me Touta, right?” I had to fight off a smile, it seemed like we were in a relationship much too much. 

“Okay, Touta. So,” I said, and that’s all I remember from that day. We talked, I talked to other people, I worked, I went back home and called ‘L’ the asshole dickface. 

“Hello.” I said.

“Hello.” he said.

We remained in silence for approximately 20 seconds. 

“Well?” I said, eventually.

“What do you mean, ‘well’? It was your turn to speak.” he responded, as I stood in front of my kitchen counter where the paper cup still stood. I hated that apartment. 

“Yeah, sorry.”

“You wanted to schedule this. I don’t care, please get on with whatever the fuck you’re going on about.”

“Do you agree to the plan before I spend time on it?”

“No, but go on anyway.” I stood there for a second in a white rage. I hate him.

“I need these support groups for support. I am willing to go without a week of solid sleep, like I was getting before you, as long as I still get some sleep. Your very presence is my downfall, and I despise you for it. So please, for God’s sake if not my own, consider this offer.”

“I have already considered it, and am willing to indulge in your request.”

“Good. I get Monday’s, Wednesday’s, Friday’s and Sunday’s. You get the rest.”

“Hmm…” he considered out loud, for some unnecessary reason. “No. You should not get the Sunday.”

“Why not? You don’t deserve an extra day.”

“No, I don’t. Either both of us or neither of us go on Sunday’s.” The thought of having to see him again repulsed me immensely.

"Neither.” I replied, quickly and firmly. He laughed at me through the phone.

“Then it’s settled.”

“It would appear so, yes.” After I said this, I felt as though if this were a physical conversation it would lead to intense and passionate hate sex. This repulsed me further. 

“Okay,” he said, and promptly hung up on me. Asshole. Thus, my pattern was returned, and I lived a peaceful and monotonous life once again. This fact caused some inner turmoil, to be honest. The thought of living a boring life upset me. I thought about asking L if he did want to fuck each other senseless, but decided against it. Self-destructive tendencies are not worth the excitement added to my life, and as such, I went to work the next day tired and overwhelmingly bored. Life, itself, is boring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn light sure would be a shame if something rlly wack happened 2 u huh
> 
> find me on tumblr @craigfuckers !!! please most of it's garbage but i think i'm funny
> 
> anyway i spent like so long on this chapter but it's still so fucking short hghhh idk other chapters will be longer maybe idk 
> 
> also maybe when i finish this i'll share character notes i wrote. honestly most of them r about matsuda


	2. Chapter 2

It’s 6:30 pm on a Sunday and I hate work. Well, really, I hate this work trip they’ve forced me to go on. You see, me being a model employee (and the son of the Chief, but that’s irrelevant) makes me a prime candidate for business trips. Now I have to go to a stupid fucking conference, where I get to talk about bullshit and stay in an expensive hotel. I suppose my main grievance is my restriction from support groups. It’s not like I have a choice, though. So, now it is 6:31 pm on a Sunday and I’m driving to the airport. I stare at the cars zooming past, thinking and dreading the experience. Matsuda should be here in my place. 

I get to the airport at 7:46. I am already overcome with boredom, and my eyes fight to stay open. Yesterday was L’s day, and I don’t even think he goes to the groups at all. He just thinks I’ll rob myself of sleep instead of risking an encounter with him. I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I check-in and go through all the standard security checks. While waiting to board, I see a woman checking me out from the corner of her eye. I’m clearly too attractive to take her up on her offer, but if she approaches me I’ll let her down easy. If she doesn’t, I’ll continue to curse her unattractive existence. I’m not vain though, just realistic and honest. If we let ugly people breed, won’t we as a species become tainted by them? Blocking them out just seems like a standard answer, and it’s a fantastic strategy for reducing overpopulation. It’s not even remotely morally correct, so I keep this to myself. If I am not the perfect man, am I anyone at all? My introspectiveness makes me seem unapproachable, so maybe the woman will stay away after all. 

We board eventually, and I sit silently in the aisle seat. I wish for the plane to take off, or maybe just explode. ‘Going out with a bang,’ I laugh to myself. As I do this, a manicured man stares at me from beside my seat. 

“This is my seat,” he says. Is this what it’s like for other people, to feel flustered under another’s gaze? My face stays calm and my speech eloquent. 

“Sorry, do you want me to get out so you can go in?” I say, preparing to unbuckle my seatbelt. He shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll squeeze in.” He slides in front of me, our legs bumping together. “Window seat.” he muses. I don’t know what to make of this comment. So uneventful and unimportant. Maybe his parents were killed by an aisle seat? No, of course not. How would that even happen? What would have once made me laugh to myself makes me immeasurably frustrated. 

“Yes.” I wheeze, eventually. His gaze moves from out of the window to me, where I feel the brunt of his scrutiny. 

“Yes.” he affirms. This is the tension that was so apparent in my phone conversation with L, yet with the physicality that could actually lead to hate sex. Maybe not so hateful, but no doubt intense. I shake my head lightly, attempting to rid myself of the thoughts that make up the mind of an average 13-year-old boy. I’m a decade older and infinitely more intelligent, where has my wisdom gone? Has it truly disappeared when faced with my mirror image, my other half? ‘No.’ I decide. I  _ am _ better than this. My head turns towards him fully, my face a show of boyish charm and utter charisma. 

“Hello,” I say. His eyebrows raise. Am I the nameless woman to him? I can’t be. I mean, come on. This man, he is the other side of my coin. 

“Hello.” He reaches out a hand to shake mine. I use perfect grip and don’t hold it for too long. Professional. Wait, fuck, I wasn’t going for professional! I feel frustration bubbling up within me, but I’m interrupted. “I’m Kira.” Kirakirakira, perfect bastard and my twin. 

I flash an utterly charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Kira.” He smiles back, the same shade of beauty as my own. If we’re not friends by the time I land, I’ll riot. We carry on polite conversation for a couple of minutes before delving into fully-fledged intellectual discussions. I write my number on a piece of paper and give it to him. My mind drifts to L at that, but his smooth words wipe the asshole from my mind. 

“I should give you mine.” He says. I nod lightly. Fervent nodding would look desperate, and I am not desperate. This makes me think of Misa, and I don’t know why this man makes me think of anyone but him or myself. Introspection, I suppose. He scribbles down some numbers and writes ‘call me’ on the bottom of the paper. This is a step too far, and I suppress an eye roll. It’s not like I wasn’t going to call him regardless of the message. If he notices my reaction, he keeps it to himself. As the plane descends into the airport, I suddenly am deeply saddened by the thought of being alone. I’d even settle for L, at this point. I go through security, the conference, and get on the plane again. Kira isn’t sitting next to me, and I feel like I’m in the air for an eternity. I get a cab back to my apartment block, where the street is sectioned off. 

“What happened?” I ask, panicked. 

The officer doesn’t recognise me, I suppose. “I’m sorry, sir, no civilians can pass through.” This concerns me, as it is the apartment block most of them live in and they therefore deserve to know the details, but he doesn’t care. I flash my badge at him, and he begins to explain with a flushed face and strained voice. “There was an explosion in one of the apartments. We’re not sure what caused it at this moment, but we think the fridge blew up.” I almost laugh in his face immediately. What a stupid and lacklustre explanation. 

“Do you know what apartment it was?” I say instead. He lists off the number, and my heart stops. It’s mine. All my things, gone. Even L’s stupid paper cup, burnt to ash. 

“That was mine.” His stupid red round face with tiny lips contorts into an expression of pity and… well, nothing else. He pities me.  _ He  _ pities  _ me.  _ He  _ pities _ me! Bastard. 

“Do you want us to organise somewhere for you to stay, or-”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.” I unfurl the paper from my pocket and dial the number. I could have called anyone, really. My parents, Sayu, Matsuda, Aizawa, even L (whose number I begrudgingly memorised). But I call Kira. He answers immediately. 

“Can I stay with you?” He doesn’t even ask any questions about why I might need to.

“Yes.”

* * *

He picks me up from the street corner and I feel like a cheap prostitute. He speeds off before I even get a chance to properly buckle my seatbelt, and I scramble to ensure my safety. He laughs at me but doesn’t look over. Head straight and eyes on the road, he takes his hands off the steering wheel to reach into a bag. I silently begin to panic, and he pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. He lights it and puts it in his mouth, and finally puts his hands on the steering wheel again. The hit of adrenaline shakes me to my core, and I have to bury my desire to laugh hysterically. I don’t know why he’d do this to someone whose apartment just burnt down, but who am I to question him? 

* * *

When we get to his house, it’s lavish. Much nicer than my apartment, which I bought straight after university and never upgraded from. Not having to pay much for rent left my money open for other expenses. 

It’s an actual house, which surprises me. It seems odd for someone of his age to own a house, but I have no idea what his financial status is. I did meet him in business class, I suppose, so maybe he is fairly well off. Regardless, I kind of understand why he didn’t mind letting me stay. It’s a large and empty house, practically begging for a human connection to grow inside it, like a structured womb. I walk inside after him and take off my shoes. He doesn’t, and suddenly I feel off balance. Was it rude of me to do so? I’ve overstepped, I fear, but I can work around it. Though he makes me feel inferior, I know what my effect on people is. He would not be in this position if I did not think him worthy of it, and this is just proof of his worthiness. Only I could overshadow myself. I trail through hallways behind him as he leads me to the kitchen. It’s bright and blinding, white tiles upon white tiles. It feels more clinical and smothering than anything else. It’s the kind of kitchen I would design to unsettle my hypothetical housewife, rather than divorcing her. It’s less expensive. He opens the fridge and pulls out some new-age health drink and pours it into two glasses. He sits at the head of the table and places the other glass on a coaster to the right of him. I sit beside him and take a sip of the drink. I have to suppress a grimace while he stares at me in silence. He takes a sip from his glass but does not break eye contact. I’m getting better at flourishing under his gaze rather than shying away from it, so I look up at him from under my eyelashes. His stare does not speak of anything but impartial judgement, but I do not know what he could be considering me for. Sex, maybe? Oh, I hope not. Sex is so… boring, really. It’s a road to nowhere, a journey where the real reward is the journey itself. Cliché. I reach for another sip, but his fingers wrap around my wrist.

“It’s a disgusting drink, isn’t it?” He asks, tilting up his right eyebrow slightly while he leans back in his chair. I lean back too, but my face stays blank.

“I suppose so.” He leans forward now, elbows resting on the table. 

“Then why did you drink it?”

“I am nothing but polite, Kira. You have let me into your home, I could not possibly turn away your offerings.”

“Societal expectations will get you nowhere. They exist only to order the standard, average people. We are not of that category. We dance above such things.”

“I don’t know if I agree, but if you’re saying I don’t have to drink this, I will not.” With this, he leans back once again, this time with a smirk playing across his lips. 

“The facade cracks a little more with every word.” 

* * *

After long-winded discussions over wine, he shows me to my room. It’s much nicer than my apartment, even before it blew up. I tuck myself into bed and fall asleep quickly. It’s been a tiring day. I think back to my past simile; if I am Tantalus, who is Kira? Is he tied to the same tragic fate? What separates us, I wonder. Are we one and the same? 

* * *

I wake up 2 hours later for no reason other than the fact that I have not earned sleep. I only got what I did from my discussion with Kira, so I feel that it could quickly become an easy alternative to my current coping mechanism. It’s much nicer, too. No more exploitation. I get out of bed and begin to explore the house. I trail through winding hallways before finding my way out and into the backyard. It’s large, though there’s no grass there at all. It’s all concrete and unnatural, crushing the growth beneath it. Everything here is so artificial. “There’s no room for growth.” I say when I hear his footsteps padding behind me. He rests a hand on my shoulder and I turn my head slightly to see him. He’s not looking at me. I turn back to look where he looks. It’s a dark sky but barely any stars are visible. The sun should rise in about 4 hours, I estimate. I feel like he’s trying to say something with this, but I don’t know what. 

“You’re right.” he answers, finally. At first, I don’t even know what he’s referring to. When I realise, I almost smile.

“Of course.” I turn around on the spot and walk back inside. I will not let him feel like he has any control over me even if I am living at his house. He trails behind me once again, and I feel sick of chasing. Is this what life is? Walking and standing and walking off again? So, so boring. I thought Kira was supposed to be exciting. I feel a pang of dissatisfaction, and I almost miss L. My hand twitches towards my pocket, but my phone isn’t in there. I look up at Kira with worry. He dangles my phone in the air before dropping it. He takes a step towards me, stepping on it and effectively destroying it. My heart constricts a little bit. I can’t leave. He tricked me and I’m stuck. When he reaches me, he spins me into his chest in some kind of suave and flirtatious move that I assume would work flawlessly on women. I stand there stiffly, however. 

“Oh, I’ll buy you a new one. You didn’t like it anyway.” He’s right. I didn’t. Sayu put stickers all over it, and when I peeled them off the adhesive stuck to it. It was unpleasant and a burden. I hated it. I shiver in his hold. He’s right. It’s uncomfortable to be in this position, where he knows me better than myself. “Live here permanently. You can leave whenever you want, but we both know it’d be so much better if you didn’t.” I nod. 

* * *

I feel lost. I don’t feel like myself. I feel out of touch with everything about myself. I go to work every day and sometimes go to support groups afterwards, and then I go home. It’s the same routine on the surface, but really, it’s so different. For starters, I don’t live alone in an apartment anymore. I live in a house with a man who is me but better and not chained to anything. He needs nothing but me, it seems, and I don’t feel different from that. It’s a hard adjustment for me, knowing that there is a person above myself. That’s why I don’t feel like myself. He is my problem but my solution too. 

* * *

It’s a Sunday and I’ve already taken tomorrow off. I told my dad it was a mental health day, and he nodded at me knowingly. Matsuda overheard and tried to talk to me about it, but I shrugged him off this time. He seems so… small now. 

So. Kira and I are sitting at a bar. He’s been talking up another guy while I sat next to him idly. My new phone buzzes in my pocket with what I assume is a message from Matsuda. Or maybe it’s L. I haven’t seen him in person in a while, but even though I had to get a new SIM card I still added his number. I don’t know why. Maybe in case of scheduling errors, or just in case I somehow forget his number. I don’t know, does it matter? No one cares. Kira doesn’t. Kira wants to fuck this guy and I have no business here, so all I do is order drinks and think about things. They disappear into the bathroom and I shoot back my drink before I walk out. I sit on the curb outside until Kira comes out.

“Hit me.” he says. I stare at him. 

‘What?’ I ask, eyebrows furrowed and head tilted slightly.

“Hit me.” he says again. Maybe it’s because I’m kind of drunk, or maybe because of the atmosphere, or maybe just because I want to, but my fist swings around to hit him square in the jaw. He laughs at me and rubs the already forming bruise. “Thanks.” and suddenly he punches me in the chest and I’m falling over and-

“What the fuck, man?” I yell, clutching my heart, still stumbling. “I feel like I’m having a fucking heart attack!” He laughs at me again. 

“You’ve never been in a fight, have you?” he asks me, and I don’t even bother with a response. He knows, why did he ask? He stalks closer to me, reaching out a hand. I pull him down to the floor and kick him in the side. He gets up unaffected and hits me again and again and again. It’s a full fight now, the kind I’ve been called to break up every day for years. It’s silent except for grunts and the sound of skin hitting skin. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @anemicdeathnote !!! please talk to me about anything i m bored always 
> 
> so. there we go! 
> 
> i'm not too happy with this chapter to be honest... perhaps when i finish writing this entire thing i'll go back and rewrite it. probably not tho. we will see.
> 
> anyway, boom! soon we will be gettin to the realllll good stuff... i felt like light just didn't feel the same anymore, which is why he has the weird monologue in the middle. anyway if anyone wants to be a beta or whatever please tell me i m struggling bc i am a Foole
> 
> edit: sorry gang i had to fix some formatting errors anyway it should look much better now?


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